81 weeks I've been in here. You would think I would lose count already but I haven't. Each week they hose me down to keep me somewhat clean for their...I don't know what to call it. "Play time" I guess. They would either beat me with their hands or sometimes other objects they have.
Other times they would have their fun with me. Doing anything and EVERYTHING they wanted. The first few times I kicked, screamed, cried, even begged. It would never work. Now I don't fight back. It's better if I'm obedient. If I do what they ask.
I hate feeling their hands on me, or their mouth. Or anything for that matter. I hate when they touch me, it disgusts me to no end. But it's all i can do to just take it. There is no way out. And you'd think I'd rather be dead right now? trust me I do, but there is no way I can. There is nothing in this small room to do it. And as for making them kill me? I've tried they will beat me extensively but not to that point
I had hoped that maybe I could get out of here, maybe someone would come for me. On week 36 I realized it won't happen. I'll never be free again. The darkness of this cell is my life now. The cold damp walls that surround me are all I have. The thin, ratty, old, holy blanket is my only warmth. And I've accepted it.
Hearing the oh so familiar click of the door that leads to the cells I perk up a bit from the corner I'm balled up in with my blanket surrounding me. My only safety as pathetic as it is.
Hopefully their not here for me. I can hear the thud of the boots coming this way. Maybe they'll pass. Maybe they'll go to someone else. Getting louder and echoing off the halls as they near closer. They'll pass they don't want me.
As the sound makes it to where I am they stop meaning one of two things their either going to the cell across me...or to me. Holding in my breath I wait to figure out which it is. Hoping that maybe I'll be spared for another time. But I'm not that lucky as I hear the click of the lock turning to my door.
The door squeaks open from the rust that covers it. And in steps my tormentor staring down at me. I never look up to meet his gaze. They hate it when I do. They hate me looking at them. Although from the black combat boots and the fraid shoelace on the right foot I know it's Greg.
Which I am both thankfully for and dreading at the same time. Greg usually doesn't violate me. He tends to just beat me. I was his punching bag and no matter how much I was obedient that wouldn't stop him. The best I can do follow the rules.
1. Don't make eye contact, never look up.
2. Don't speak ever.
3. Do everything possible not to whimper or cry that will only encourage him more.
4. If he tells me to do something do it no matter how much I don't want to it will make everything easier.
"well hello princess how are we today?" His somewhat deep voice echoed off the walls.
Don't say anything he's trying to trap you. Taking steps closer he kneeled in front of me.
"what you don't want to talk to me?" I could smell the stench from his breath from how close he was.
He waited a few seconds for me to reply but he got nothing. He will get nothing. I won't speak.
Reaching forward he grabbed my hair fisting it in his hand. He stood pulling me up with him. I winced at the pain slightly but I don't dare make a noise.
"I've got something special for you today." Reaching around his back he grabbed whatever he was speaking off and held it in front of my face. A small wooden bat. The one he uses when he wants to get really rough with me. The wood old and stained from my past blood.
YOU ARE READING
The broken and fragileWerewolf
"She was knocked out on the ground in the corner of the room. Laying on top of that ratty old blanket completely naked...The room was cold even for me. I'm guessing they kept it air conditioned to keep her weak. The room was quite small and damp. He...